Dalliances
by siDEADde
Summary: Drabbling in ficlets and headcanons...ongoing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just messing around with style and voice. It's a bit rough, as I haven't found it yet. **

**Thank you for reading!**

**s§s**

Maura is patient.

Jane has so many lines of defense: moats and trenches, walls and fences and Maura is sure that Jane's Über-Ich is tucked away in the middle of a volcano on a small island somewhere in that beautiful mind.

But Maura is also persistent.

Year one spent shoveling backfill, leveling the ground enough that Jane comes to her in the middle of the night and, in a very backhanded way, hands Maura a map: _I have never been so scared in my life._

From there the road is rocky, beset on all sides by Hoyt, dirty cops, and Jane herself, all trying to eliminate the destination before Maura can arrive and she is terrified that maybe she never will. So she plays the replacement game: Slucky, Ian(the _love of her life_ she tells Jane, leaving out the _previous_ because Maura thinks it's obvious that she's no longer who she was), even Tommy, because for a moment she's so, so tired and close enough is just that. Then she comes to her senses, realizing all that separates her from Jane is a counter top and a bad $600.00 bottle of wine. _…but I love you._

She wields the words like a Bangalore torpedo, but her aim is off (or maybe it's the map) because there is still something standing between them like the soggy, wine-soaked grilled cheese. For once in her life, Maura is at a loss for words because that line always works in the movies.

Grilled cheese becomes Gabriel Dean and Paddy Doyle and Maura digs out all of the trenches she filled because she and Jane (_oh god Jane_) are no longer speaking, touching, living…it takes Maura's blood and tears(and maybe her soul because the moment the glass bites into her skin she offers it up in exchange for Jane's arms) to build a bridge back to where they were.

After, Maura solemnly swears she is up to all good and the map is clear again, but the something-between-them is now a deployed "boyfriend" and Maura has to be rejected by her biological mother and almost die to feel Jane's arms around her once more. (And it's good that that's enough because she has nothing left with which to barter but her heart and it's really not hers for the trading.) She's almost there, having crossed the expanse of waterway and climbed to the lip of the volcano, and they stand, covered in concrete dust and cobwebs, with their hands clasped as the _something_ hobbles away. The decision is hers right-here-right-now, take that fragile super-ego and carefully (oh so carefully) temper it so that it is strong enough to love Maura the way she wants to be loved and she is -so- close to having everything she wants. But then there's Hope, and the volcano goes dormant and it is cold, so cold.

Maura is now down a kidney, up a sister, and without Jane. _Her_ Jane. The Jane with her presently is scathingly sarcastic (instead of lovingly, Maura _can_ tell the difference), belittling and had no time for Maura until Maura killed a man. She's discovering that it's the extremes that draw Jane to her, that instead of tempering she should have sculpted because it wasn't strength Jane's heart needed, but finesse. Perilous, the perch she stands on now, because while the volcano is dormant, it is not extinct. There are vents of heat that take Maura's breath away: Jane's lips pressed to her hair and her cheek, those long arms linked with hers, that protective hand pulling her back from nightmare after nightmare. She is relieved to know there is still something burning, banked under the ashes of a maybe-fiancé.

Relief isn't as good as having though, and while Maura is patient and Maura is persistant, Maura is lonely. Before Jane, lonely meant quality time with a Dal Forno Amarone and a medical journal, now it means displacement. Fridays, after drinks at the Robber, Jane skips movies for Skype and finally, after a night that needs to be Jane-ended, close-enough rears its Rizzoli head again. Maura finds that if she unfocuses, his eyes are Jane-brown and his voice is deep and rough and she _cannot_ help her blind and desperate heart. Perhaps her heart cannot see, but her lips can and the breathy "oh" of revelation they form is half of the syllables they want to say. (And he is gone before she thinks to say the rest.)

At last, it's Jane. A ringless Jane. A teary, needy, frightened Jane. Maura pulls her to the couch, and tangles their fingers together. The elephant-wish hovers between them, gently fanning the embers until Maura can see it in Jane's eyes. The map, a snipe hunt. The ring, just displacement of Jane's own. Maura spent years searching for Jane's heart, but never thought to look in the one she, herself, gave away.

"How long?"

The pause was Maura's journey, her answer their destination.

"Forever."


	2. Guilty

**A/N**: **Written for a prompt from Feltknickers on Tumblr:**** Which song does Maura listen (and sing along) to in the shower and why? **

**Guilty**

"Goodbye Jane." Maura chirps brightly after the tall silhouette framed in her doorway turns to wave before closing the door. "I'll see you tomorrow morning!"

With the hot and muggy weather leaving Boston's upstanding citizens trigger happy, the team's barely had enough time off to eat, much less bathe. Tonight, Jane left wearing the same rumpled blazer she started the week in, and while Maura's managed to get home and freshen up between autopsies, she's not been able to get all of herself under running water at the same time. The team was sent home this evening with orders not to return for forty-eight hours. It feels like a vacation.

Humming softly as she washes her wineglass and rinses out the singular beer bottle left sitting on the countertop, Maura plans the rest of her evening in her head. A long shower, a bit of Vogue in bed, and then a goodnight call to Jane; events that generally marked her typical Friday moved instead to the middle of the week.

For once in her recent life, the change in routine isn't even a blip on her regimented radar. She's far too caught up in Jane's impromptu dinner this evening: both of them standing in front of the stove, eating penne tossed with grape tomatoes and asparagus straight from the sauté pan with their fingers. It had been exhilarating – she knows exhaustion helps bring out her spontaneous side – and she's still buzzing as she finishes wiping down the countertop and throws the emptied beer away.

The bottle clinks against its brethren in the recycle bin and Maura flicks off the light switch as she moves on to the next stage of her night. Shower. Music. "Showermusic!" She grins a bit at her wordplay, thinking that perhaps it's more than just exhaustion making her feel this giddy.

"It was only two glasses, Bass." She squats down to pat his shell as she passes him in the hall. "Fatigue and alcohol probably aren't the best combination, but we did have a wonderful time. Who knew I could fit penne on my pinkies?" He blinks dumbly, ducking his head when Maura pushes up from her position with a wobble, her tone becoming less conversational and more contemplative. "Who knew I would then hold out said penne-covered pinkies to my best friend in an invitation?" Her belly warms with the memory and she continues in a whisper. "And who knew she'd take me up on it?"

She stands for a moment more before stooping to pat the tortoise one last time then continuing down the hall to the master bedroom. It's possible that this shower may be one of the most anticipated events of her year, yet Maura takes her time getting ready. She's enjoying the subtle thrill that self-denial brings. After collecting her robe, various aromatherapy soaps, and the fluffiest bathsheet she could find in the linen closet, she thumbs through the playlists on her phone. Jane has teased her for the bizarre variety of songs, but she enjoys music; the way a melody can capture an emotion better than words, and tonight, she has a particular playlist in mind. Something she created a couple of weeks after Jane shot herself, a short list of songs chosen not only for their obvious lyrical proclamations, but also for their connections to more nostalgic times in her life.

The playlist is surreptitiously titled _Arias and Chansons d'amour – Music for Yoga_ because she knows that if Jane is playing around with her phone, she'd not bother to look at what she considers "Whole Foods music." The list, however, is a confessional. As Maura had processed her emotions over the days and weeks of Jane's recovery, she'd assigned a song to every up and down, every advance and set-back. These 20-odd songs are a melodic testimonial to Maura's unrequited love for her best friend which she only acknowledges when she is home alone and even then sometimes only after a few glasses of wine. Maura has spent so much of her life yearning that unreciprocated adoration feels normal.

She presses play after syncing her phone to the wireless sound system, closing her eyes as the first bars of melody wash over her. It's almost as pleasing as she imagines the water will be and she smiles at the surge of desire. Maura sets the phone down on her nightstand and gathers up all of the things she collected for her shower, humming happily all the way to the master bath.

s§s

She's shampooed twice and loofa'ed so thoroughly that her skin is pinked and tingly. As the water sluices across her upturned face, she hears the dramatic intro to the second to last song on her playlist as it pours from the speakers. Her pleasant winebuzz faded halfway through this forty-going-on-fifty-minute shower, and she blushes slightly as she thinks about how obvious this particular choice is. The song itself is a bit of an embarrassment - she'd never hear the end of it if Jane ever found out – but she still loves it. It holds the power of being one of the earliest good memories of her mother, one that she clings to when she feels forgotten or ignored by her parents.

Maura was barely five, but the memory is as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Her mother was standing in front of an outlandishly large component stereo, holding a white album cover, and gently swaying as the very same intro that plays now, played then. In a rare show of physical affection, her mother had caught Maura up in her arms and danced them both around the room, singing as loudly as the woman on the record. Constance had stopped and restarted the song over and over until Maura could sing the chorus as well. Even before she had put it on "Jane's" playlist, it had always conjured up a deep-seated warmth and happiness and now she has another reason to love it all the more.

The chorus swells and she joins in, loudly and slightly off-key, the cooling water streaming through her hair. Maura loves to sing; but it's an indulgence she keeps carefully hidden, even from Jane. Despite her love of music, the ability to make it has always eluded her. Maura has no problems deciphering compounds in an HPLC column based on their peaks alone, but breaking down harmonies by their chords is beyond her abilities. When she was young, her piano teacher bemoaned her ear and emotionless expression, her vocal coach subtly steered her back to piano, and Maura learned that passion didn't always equal success. So now she sings only when she is alone; sometimes when she's straightening the kitchen, sometimes when she's filing reports but always when she's in the shower where the acoustics make her sound like she feels.

"…and I'd do anything to get you into my world," her voice rises along with the vocals and she pours everything she has into the refrain. "and hold you within. It's a right I'll defend, over and over again." The hot water heater can't keep up anymore, and Maura shivers once before turning off the tap. The song is fading away and Maura feels the energy it brought wick into the towel with each pass along dampened skin. The last song on the playlist brings a wistful smile to her face, the sleepy twang of the guitar a perfect closure to her evening. Another song from her past, but one she didn't remember until the day Jane held her hands and told her that despite parallels, despite Hoyt's words, Maura was nothing like him. If Maura hadn't already been in love when Jane then, it would have only taken that moment of affirmation and support to tumble head over heels.

"Anyone who's ever had a heart," she warbles softly as she finishes toweling off, "wouldn't turn around and break it." Humming along through to the refrain, she slips into her robe and opens the door in a cloud of steam. "Sweet Jane. Sweet Jane." Part of the charm of this song is its singer's lackadaisical adherence to pitch, so Maura always enthusiastically joins in. "Sweet, sweet Ja – oh my god, Jane!"

There, sitting against the wall across from the bathroom door with her long legs crossed at the ankle and eyebrow arched in amusement is the inspiration for the playlist. Maura's hands fly to her chest in shock; she feels her cheeks flame at the throaty chuckle from across the room.

"You might want to, uh…" Jane smirks as she mimics tying something in front of her, the smirk deepening as Maura fumbles with her belt, blushing furiously the entire time.

"What are you doing here?" Maura pushes a strand of wet hair off her face and flustered, crosses her arms across her chest. "Are you alright?"

"Yep, fine." Jane gathers her legs under her, but holds her hands up . "Little help?" Maura merely arches an eyebrow until Jane rolls her eyes and concedes. "Please?"

Maura still doesn't budge, even though Jane is wiggling her fingers and wielding her most disarming smile. "You didn't answer the first question."

"Mauurraaa, come onnnn." Her resolve melts at Jane's scrunched , pouty face and with a sigh she steps forward to put her hands in Jane's and tugs. Once she's upright, Maura moves to step away but Jane doesn't let go of her hands.

"So I'm here because I forgot my dog..." Jane's voice hesitates just a bit and her thumbs softly rub the tops of Maura's hands, raising goosebumps along her arms. Maura struggles to focus on what Jane is saying. "…which is almost as bad as forgetting a child, I'm sure. Although it does say something that she didn't get up from her bed to follow me out the door…"

A throaty chuckle breaks the silence and Maura looks up from watching Jane's thumbs slowly trace along the peaks and valleys of her knuckles. She clears her throat and stammers, "I'm sorry, wh – what were you saying?"

"I was answering your first question."

Maura cannot look away from the intensity of Jane's eyes, the way they darken from velvety brown to pitch as they steal her breath and her words. She closes her own in an attempt to refocus and regain control over her hammering heart.

"Maura?" Jane's smoky voice caresses her ears in the same manner those thumbs are stroking the soft underside of her wrists. "Are you alright?" There is concern, but it is flecked with the slight smirk that Maura can see even with her eyes closed. She breathes in slowly, willing her voice to be steady despite the bewildering sensations.

"Yes. I'm just confused." Maura opens her eyes to see Jane's crooked smile stutter a moment. Maura's heart follows in kind. "Jo's stayed here many times. I don't see why you felt you needed to come back for her."

"I didn't come back for Jo…" Maura realizes, as her vision begins to pinpoint, that she is holding her breath. Jane clears her throat and drops her gaze to the floor for a moment. When Maura gasps for air, Jane's eyes jump up to peer at her quizzically and the grip on her wrists tightens a bit. "Are you sure you're alright?"

She nods, but gently pulls her hands away before Jane realizes they are beginning to shake. "I'm fine, you just caught me unawares." She moves back towards her bed, tugging off the decorative throw pillows and turning back the duvet, anything to try to calm her suddenly jangled nerves. Jane's always had the ability to rattle Maura in a way that disarms yet delights.

"Oh? You mean you _wouldn't_ have serenaded me from the steamy warmth of your shower if you were awares?" Jane steps forward as Maura retreats, the smirk from before back, but now highlighted with a confidence that makes Maura shiver. "Because I could have sworn that was _my_ name you were just crooning."

And just like that, she is caught. Her stomach clenches and her hands fly together, fingers and thumb settling around her ring as Maura backpedals, babbling, "That wasn't crooning or singing, really. I can't sing. I was just humming along – wait, how long have you been here?" Maura jerks her head up to see Jane is looking at her intently.

"Long enough to know you own at least one Barbra Striesand song." Jane snorts and shakes her head, eyes sparkling with mirth, "And that, despite your protestations, you were singing. Quite enthusiastically. And it was my name." Jane once again steps into her personal space, but this time leaves her hands down at her sides. Maura has to tip her head slightly to maintain eye contact; she cannot look away from Jane's fathomless eyes. Any further explanation she has dies the moment Jane's gaze drops to her lips.

"Like I was saying before," Jane shifts her stance so that they are almost touching. "I forgot my dog. But that's not why I came back tonight." The energy between them crackles and Maura feels it shoot to her belly then radiate outward to tighten her nipples and pulse between her legs. Jane's voice drops to a rasp and Maura's head lolls to the side when Jane leans in to continue. Maura has no idea what they are doing, but she's been impulsive on so many levels this evening already, what's one more?

"I came back because I'm tired of leaving. Jo's tired of leaving. This is where I want to be." Their only point of contact is Jane's lips against her ear, and when the whispering began, Maura had to fight to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head. She's trembling uncontrollably, and when Jane's arms go around her, she melts into them. Jane continues "I was never sure how you felt but tonight, the wine, the pasta, your eyes…I can't pretend to be content with loving you from a distance anymore."

Maura loops her arms up and around Jane's neck, pulling back slightly to look up into her eyes again. "I _was_ singing. And it _was_ about you."

Jane smiles and leans in to rub her nose against Maura's, "Yeah, I didn't think those songs were very good for yoga." When Maura chuckles, Jane angles her head and captures her laughing mouth with a kiss that leaves her gasping.

"I've always wondered if that tasted as sweet as it sounded." Jane's crooked smile is frosted with smug that only thickens when Maura manages to respond.

"Well?"

The last thing Maura sees are dark eyebrows arching above dancing eyes. "Further testing is needed."


End file.
